


Story: These gyves on my hands set you free (Albus, Severus, Gen)

by eldritcher



Series: The Albus Triad [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:40:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2371466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Albus suspects that Voldemort's grand strategy to off him consists of sending Severus to decimate his liquor cabinet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Story: These gyves on my hands set you free (Albus, Severus, Gen)

_Thanking[](http://heartofspells.livejournal.com/profile)[ **heartofspells**](http://heartofspells.livejournal.com/) for the excellent beta-work she has done for this story._

It's 1995. Albus is an alcoholic. He's wallowing. He's rather keen on dying.

\------------  


“You are inordinately excited about his return, young man,” Minerva remarked. Though she was striving to effect equanimity, the depth of worry in her eyes gave her away.

“The man is madder than ever, my contacts say,” Severus said thoughtfully, his back to us as he stared out the window that overlooked the Forbidden Forest.

Tom had returned. With Cornelius refusing to acknowledge the truth, I had to rely on the Order to ensure Harry’s safety. However, a line of defence was futile if we did not know what to defend against. For that, Severus needed to be sent back into the field. While he said that he was ready, that he had always been ready for this, I did not think so. He was no longer as young as he had been. He was fast approaching forty, had led a sedentary life all these years, had relaxed his paranoia and had become cosy enough at Hogwarts. Despite his constant tirades about the collective stupidity of the student-body, the lack of generous remuneration for his work, the school’s stingy funding for his private researches and innumerable other topics, Severus had started to consider this place home, as much as I did, and a return to his spying days would not be easy at all, and that was an understatement.

“How is Malfoy taking it?” I enquired.

Normally, Severus discouraged questions about his former associates. This reticence was more pronounced if the associate mentioned had been in Slytherin with him. For some reason, he was ridiculously loyal to his House fraternity. In fact, he had stubbornly refused to take the witness-stand against Malfoy and some other associates in the trials after the First War, despite my assurances of a closed court.

“I am your spy,” he had said then irritably. Crouch had wanted me to put Severus on the stand so that they would finally have solid evidence to indict Malfoy. “Undercover. You said He will return. I can’t take the stand against them, if you want me to spy again when that happens.”

Now Severus huffed and took a large gulp of my fine Chateau Lafite that he had insisted upon to mark the occasion of his return to spying. Sometimes, I really feared that his sole purpose in life was decimating my liquor cabinet.

“He keeps raving on about the _mistakes of our youth_ ,” Severus muttered. “I suspect he has been talking to his father’s portrait too often of late.”

“His father was a right wild card!” Minerva laughed, the worry in her eyes fading slightly. “Like Alphard Black, bless him. Sometimes I wonder how Abraxas could have fathered a bastard like Lucius Malfoy.”

Severus sniffed, but did not offer a response. Perhaps he was hoping that signalling his lack of interest in the conversation might spare him further discussion on the matter.

“I hope you aren’t relying on Malfoy to make your case to Tom,” I told the boy sternly.

Uncertainty flashed upon his features for a moment before it was quickly replaced by his habitual arrogance. Then I realised what he was trying to hide.

“You really have no idea how to go about it, do you?” I asked, horrified. Quickly, I rose to my feet and joined him by the window. “Severus, you are not planning to Apparate to _him_ the next time he calls everyone and hope that he doesn’t kill you instantly!”

“Forgive my lack of meticulous planning,” he huffed.

“Severus!” Minerva exclaimed. “You daren’t!”

“He won’t kill me instantly,” Severus said briskly. “He isn’t as mad as all that! He is clever, you know, and he will likely want to extract as much as he can from me before he does away with me.”

“Apart from the pesky matter of your demise,” Minerva said testily, “how does this scenario serve us at all?”

I made my way to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a dash of brandy. Somehow, from the first time eleven-year-old Severus had stood in this very office after an altercation with the Marauders, to this day, his presence in my office usually necessitated the consumption of brandy.

“He drives me to drink, Albus!” had hissed Sirius Black after an Order meeting at Grimmauld House.

“Yes, my boy,” I had told poor Sirius sympathetically. “He has a way of doing that.”

I should know. Continued exposure to Severus on a daily basis had made me an alcoholic. Sometimes, I wondered if Voldemort’s grand plan to do away with me simply involved cirrhosis brought on by this injudicious drinking caused by Severus.

“He is madder than ever,” I remarked. “What makes you think he might even bother with drilling your mind?”

“I am worried,” admitted Severus. “He does so despise traitors. Regulus died in a very messy manner, I have heard. However, there are factors that might keep me alive. He wants to know what you have been doing. He wants to know about Potter and the prophecy. There is talk of raising Inferi using the old Dark rituals. He will need potions for that and I doubt any of his current followers have my talent.”

“Pettigrew did manage to raise him from the dead,” Minerva retorted. She no longer called him Peter. However, she refused to call him Wormtail. “Potions can be brewed as long as one has motivation enough.”

“The Dark Lord was desperate enough, at that point, and would have been grateful enough for _Longbottom_ ’s potion-making expertise, or the lack thereof.”

“I wish you wouldn’t persist in calling Tom so,” I complained. “There are eyes on you, Severus; the way you address Tom might raise questions about allegiances in certain quarters.”

“I am used to it, I think,” Severus said thoughtfully. “From the very day I was Sorted into Slytherin, I have constantly heard him addressed so. Anyway, I prefer it to that fanciful _French_ name.”

“It never fails to amaze me how you have a fondness for French wine while being less than appreciative of our neighbour across the Channel in general,” I said, smiling despite the situation.

Severus muttered a bon mot that shocked even my ears, long inured though I was to his vulgar wit. As it was, Minerva cleared her throat and primly glared at Severus who promptly apologised.

“I am leaving,” Minerva said with a faint smile of indulgence at the pair of us. “The two of you can be merry in your cups together.”

“I will come along,” I told her. “I am throwing him out soon. There is only so much of him one can take for the day.”

“I know you like to take it up the arse,” Severus said dryly, “but surely you could leave my phallic attributes out of your fantasies, you barmy old man?”

Silence fell like a shroud upon the room, rapidly stifling the merriness of earlier. I brought a weary hand to my brow. Severus, registering that he had crossed a boundary, began to apologise. Then peals of mirth rang shrill in the room as Minerva began laughing, clutching at her side and shaking her head at us.

“That, I believe, is my cue to leave,” Minerva declared, in between bouts of helpless laughter even as I lobbed the rest of my brandy at Severus who reacted with a very satisfying yelp.

After she had departed, Severus turned to meet my gaze and said solemnly, “I had not intended to say that.”

“Wretched boy. Pour me another.” He did so, his countenance remorseful and glum. “You will be the death of me,” I agreed with a sigh. “I have long made my peace with that.”

“Not literally, I hope,” he said with a wry smile. I reached across to pat the boy’s shoulder. Fawkes, silent so far, let loose a soft trill.

“How do you know?” I asked Severus, torn between curiosity and mortification.

“He sent me, all those years ago, to make my way into your confidences by _seducing_ you.” Severus gulped down his drink without finesse. His hands shook as he set the glass down. Clearing his throat, he turned away. “It only confirmed my belief that he had no idea about the concept of attractiveness. I had spots, for pity's sake. Luckily, for all of us, I had more sense.”

“I see,” I said faintly. I was very grateful that Severus had had more sense than Tom. The boy was so young. He had been barely twenty when he had come to me as a turncoat. If we had had such a conversation then, it would have been disastrous, what with our lack of mutual trust during that time.

How had Tom known my weakness? It had been long buried in the shrouds of time. In fact, apart from Minerva and Aberforth, I did not think there remained anyone in this country who knew of it.

“I had best be going,” Severus said quietly. “The Mark burns. Here, hand me that Sobering draught. It won’t do to be intoxicated.”

“Be on your guard,” I told him as I passed the draught to him. “Take your cloak. It’s cold outside. I will wait up for you.”

The boy nodded sharply and left the room. I sighed and made my meandering way to Minerva’s rooms.

“He has been called?” Minerva asked.

“Yes. I worry so,” I said tiredly.

“You were less worried about sending him to that monster the last time around,” Minerva reminded me.

That was unfortunately true. Then the boy had only been a worthless turncoat. The only reason why I had kept him out of Azkaban had been the valuable information he brought along each time. I had wanted the information, so I had assured him that no harm would come to the woman he coveted. I had failed my vow. Regret had made me extend a cautious hand of friendship to the boy then. Somehow, with time had blossomed real friendship and trust. The idea of sending the boy to Tom sat ill with me.

“He was happy here,” I told her. “As happy as it is in him to be.”

“He is a man,” Minerva sniffed. “Men delight in throwing themselves into the middle of a fray, if only to grab the spotlight. Severus knows that this task is exceedingly dangerous, but he will do it all the same. He doesn’t like the corners, though he says otherwise.”

Prudence had never been the boy’s speciality, ‘twas true. The Marauders, who were now faint sepia memories of vibrant lives swallowed by fate’s unforgiving jaws, had snared Severus in many of their pranks because of his curiosity and his intense desire to prove himself worthy in Lily’s eyes, in the world’s eyes. Severus liked the spotlight, he liked to be in the centre of events, and he liked being needed. Perhaps that was why he had barely protested at all when the spying had fallen on his shoulders once again.

“Sit down,” Minerva ordered. “I will make us tea. We can wait together.”

Strangely enough, I had not realised how lonely I had been until I had seen Minerva at her brother’s funeral in 1956. She had been drained hollow, worn by care and grief, and the loneliness that sat high upon her noble brow had been evident to any who dared look. It was only then that I understood how lonely I had been, all those years.

Now we waited together, the silence only broken by the soft clatter of Minerva’s mismatched china. When the knock came, I rose to my feet as swiftly as age and old bones allowed, and opened the door.

“He is mad,” proclaimed Severus. “Minerva, you had best take the Salem Institute’s job offer and leave the country.”

I examined him cautiously and could detect no harm. With a sigh, I let him pass. He poured himself a cup of tea and made a face at the tepidness. Minerva looked him over. Seeing that he had not been physical harmed, she exhaled in relief and resumed her seat.

“What about me?” I asked mildly.

“You and I won’t survive this, old man.”

Severus delighted in making ominous pronouncements all the time. But this once, with his eyes failing to mask his fear and his movements jerky as he sipped the tea, I felt premonition rise in me.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“Madness,” he sighed. “He is not half as sane he was in 1981. All those years of wandering in the spirit have taken their toll on him. Wormtail is still waiting upon him hand and foot. It is necessary, you see, because he can’t remember what a corporeal body needs anymore. He is given to fainting fits brought on by his lack of regard for his body. He talks with the snake that Potter saw in the graveyard, he mutters to himself and his obsession with Potter is deeply worrying.”

Tom. That brilliant boy who had charmed us all with his rapier wit and enigmatic smiles. What had he come to?

“If he is as mad as you say,” Minerva said, “surely he poses less danger to our society this time.”

“His mind is not fogged. In fact, I believe it might be sharper than ever. All those years of suffering, privation and endurance has honed it to lethal perfection,” Severus said. Now sadness had replaced fear on his features. “That is what makes it all the more terrifying, Minerva. Poor Bertha Jorkins, it seems, was so torn between pity and fear for the wretched creature that had her killed. There is nothing substantial left of him in the husk. I refuse to wonder if it is a miracle or a curse that his mind survived.”

Horcruxes. Tom had stretched his soul beyond the pale of human endurance. Now all that remained was this body spun of Dark Arts and the resilient mind which was encased in it. There had always been a grain of madness in Tom. His supporters had called it genius. Perhaps they were right. This, however, this was beyond eccentricities and quirks. This was insanity at its worst. Deprived of heart and soul, Tom’s spirit had wandered restlessly in dark forests, his mind clamouring for resurrection and revenge. The single-minded obsession had returned him to a corporeal form. Would it yield him Harry too?

“You must tell the boy,” Severus said, no doubt following a similar line of thought.

“He is too young,” I protested, as I did every time this matter was raised by him.

“That he is,” Minerva said. “Let him know a few more carefree years.”

“That madman I left behind will not wait for years, I tell you!” Severus exclaimed. “Regardless of what the prophecy is, he seeks to destroy the boy. He intends to bring in Bellatrix and others imprisoned in Azkaban. You know what that means!”

“We will protect the boy until he is of age!” Minerva declared fervently, her eyes shining with conviction. “It is not his fault that he is a madman’s target. I will not have him pulled into this war.”

“Karkaroff is _dead_. Malfoy said that he was fed alive to mountain-wolves!” Severus mopped his brow. “The Dark Lord is paranoid and taking no chances. His skills at Legilimency exceed yours. He treads through minds as a knife through butter. He will dispose of me sooner or later, when he begins to suspect. How will you protect the boy then? Without the information I bring you?”

“You aren’t dying,” I said testily. “None of us are. I wish you would trust me.”

He thawed at that and muttered, “It is not a question of trust. It is a question of acting before it is too late. I am not convinced that keeping the boy in the dark is ideal.”

“I will take it into consideration,” I promised. “Perhaps we should arm him with a modicum of Occlumency. It would serve him well in the coming days.”

“That idea has merits,” Severus allowed.

It was then that I had another idea.

“You will teach him?”

Surely that would finally end the breach between Severus and young Harry. They were both stubborn and excelled at grudge-bearing, but a shared experience might undo their enmity.

“No!” Minerva disagreed. “You can’t ask him to, Albus. They would kill each other.”

“We would.” Severus inclined his head in agreement.

“Drama,” I scoffed. “Goodnight, Severus. You have kept us from bed long enough.”

\---------------

As it turned out, asking Severus to teach Harry had been one of the many mistakes I had made that year. I failed in addressing Sirius’s worries, I failed to see the lengths Cornelius would go to discredit me, I failed to realise how my removal from Hogwarts might aid Tom’s plans and I failed to understand how my detached behaviour would affect Harry.

I was hiding in Aberforth’s rooms behind his tavern. We had managed to strike a veneer of civility, momentarily united by the cause. We were having our supper one evening when Severus’s Patronus came bearing tidings of Harry’s foolhardy departure.

“Of all the-” I bit off the rest of my words. I had risked so much, had sacrificed so much, to keep the boy safe and he had to go haring to the one place he had been warned away from.

“I will call the Order,” Aberforth said briskly. “Go on.”

His eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts on the matter. For a moment, for a very infinitesimal moment, I wondered if he would grieve at all if I died.

“Albus?”

“Send word to the rest of the Order. Ask Severus to stay put.”

\-------------------------------

Capturing Lucius Malfoy flushed me with righteous triumph. He had caused many an Order member grief while managing to slip the nets until now. Not even Fudge could ignore this.

I noticed Bellatrix running away from the fray. Confident that the Order members would manage to deal with the prisoners here, I followed her. She led me straight to _him_ , as I had known she would.

There I stopped, staring in shock at the sight of him. There was nothing human in him left. His mind remained powerful, his magic seemed untarnished by his death in 1981 and his reflexes were remarkably synchronised for someone who had become used to disembodiment. He was also irrevocably, utterly, terrifyingly insane. Severus was right. One could only look upon this creature with an equal mixture of pity and fear. Not even Gellert - no, _Grindelwald_ \- had fallen to these straits.

“There are worse things in life than dying,” I told him softly.

He had been my student. How had I failed to see what his peculiar blend of sadism and brilliance would turn him into?

“Liar!” the creature exclaimed. “There is nothing worse than dying.”

\----------------

After Harry had destroyed half my office, I stood by the window and gazed over the tree line.

“What happened here?”

“The righteous wrath of a grieving fifteen-year-old orphan,” I remarked. “I daresay I deserved it.”

“You did,” Severus agreed.

At least, I noted, he had had the courtesy of refraining from chiming ‘ _I told you so_ ’. Perhaps he was trying to tread softly knowing how affected I was by Sirius’s death. Reckless, dashing Sirius who had been the pride of his teachers and beloved by all; the Veil had swallowed him whole.

“I am leaving now. He is calling us to him. I confess my chances of return aren’t all that high.”

“You are right, you know,” I said, making my way to his side. “He is wretchedly mad and we both shan’t make it out of this war alive.”

“Don’t die before me,” he cautioned wryly. “I can’t be bothered to scowl at your bier.”

I smiled at that. I also hoped, _fervently_ , that I died before him. At this point of my life, only him I dared call my friend. I did not want him dead, but that was impossible. So I would settle for dying before him.

Ironic that I had called this man a turncoat once long ago, when he had been the most loyal of us all. His fealty to his House remained the one constant in these wretched times.

“If you return,” I told him solemnly, “I will let you open that bottle of Garrafeira you have been eyeing for a decade.”

“Incentive indeed!” he remarked. “Try and put the office to rights before Minerva comes. She will not take it in her stride, you know.”

“I am the bane of her existence,” I said, half-seriously.

I tried not to think of Minerva too much. My death was inevitable. If I thought of her, if I thought of how my death might affect her, I knew I would find my courage lacking when my time came.

“Nonsense,” he said. “You aren’t the centre of the world, old man, though you would like that. Now, I am off to see the man who is the centre of the world.”

Tom _was_ the centre of our world, wasn’t he?

Long after Severus had left, after the moon had settled in to keep watch over the Forbidden Forest, after Minerva had retired to bed, I remained by the window thinking of an orphan who had wanted attention, fame and respect so badly that he had made himself a monster.

Shards of glass littered my floor and an unopened bottle of the Garrafeira remained on my desk.

Later, when Severus returned to the school, shaken, bruised but whole, we drank to the memory of Sirius Black.

“It isn’t that I consider him the best man of my acquaintance,” Severus said, clinking his glass against mine, his features careworn, pensive and forlorn. “It is that I consider him one of the bravest men I have known. He did taunt Bellatrix. It was very, very brave and very, very foolish of Black to take on Bella in a duel. I’ll overlook the folly and drink to the bravery.”

I watched his countenance closely and sighed when I could detect no lie. So he had moved on from the past. Had it been Sirius who had refused to? Not entirely. Severus had not resisted taunting him, I was aware, but so used to Severus’s ways was I that I did not consider it malicious in intent. Severus was snide to everyone. Perhaps it was his way of telling the world that he no longer needed its approval and that he no longer cared to be a wallflower. He did not feel culpable in Sirius’s death. Every man was answerable for his actions, in Severus’s book, just as he had taken responsibility for every deed of his. Sirius had been brave enough and foolish enough to taunt Bellatrix during a fight. Sirius had died doing so. So Severus would drink to the bravery and overlook the foolishness.

“Remus said that Sirius went mad towards the end, cooped up in Grimmauld Place,” I said, letting the wine add a tangy flavour to the guilt that I tasted on every word I spoke. The Marauders had trusted me. I had sent them all to destruction, hadn’t I?

“Lupin hasn’t seen real madness, then,” Severus replied. “The monster wants my children to take the Mark this year. He has charged me with the task.”

 _My children_. Not even Minerva spoke of her charges so possessively. One and a half decades ago, this boy had been a gangly, lovelorn, insecure wallflower who had made a series of bad decisions. Now here he was before me, as fiercely, parentally protective of his young wards as a tigress was of its young.

There were many in the Ministry who said I stayed here at the school to manipulate my young charges. They were wrong. I lived for moments as these, when a former student made my chest constrict with pride and fulfilment. Many of my charges had done our school proud, but none more so than this boy here. I knew from experience - from a summer’s tale in 1899 - how hard it was to pull oneself free from the tentacles of ambition, to say no to a life that had been everything one had ever wanted, and to yield one’s life over to the grind mill in the hope that it might benefit someone.

“We will take him down before it comes to that, I swear,” I told him quietly.

Generations of misguided youth had walked down a dark path of blood and hatred. Now, with Severus and I willing enough to die for the children, we could save the next generations from this madness, couldn’t we?

“It is strange that I am endeavouring to prevent the very end Slughorn used to encourage,” Severus remarked. “When I was about to leave school, Slughorn gave me a reference which he said would gain me an audience with the Dark Lord. It did. When the Dark Lord asked me if I was ready to serve him, I agreed instantly. I hadn’t had other prospects. Then the prophecy came and I defected. I regretted it, you know.” He met my gaze steadily. “It was betrayal. I liked most of my associates. Many of them had been kind to me. The Dark Lord himself had rarely raised his voice at me, far less thrown a curse at me. During those times, he let his displeasure loose only on those who failed him. I don’t mean to say that the situation was ideal. I had gyves on my hands in the form of that Mark but those were gyves of my choosing and to betray them sat ill with me. I lived with the guilt all these years. Then he returned and I saw what he had become. Strangely enough, seeing his madness gave me absolution from my guilt. Now when I go each time to his presence, I am willingly placing the gyves on my hands and kissing his cloak, not for the sake of a dead woman, but for the sake of my children and for the world they will live in.”

I had always known that. His infatuation might have been the cause for his defection but it was his loyalty to his charges that had kept him by my side all these years. He was as devoted to Tom’s end as I was.

“To his death,” I said, raising my glass.

Severus inclined his head and raised his glass in silent toast to my words.

Let the gyves on our hands and our cold graves set the children free.

 

\--------------------------  
Somewhat sequel-ish to [Thy Kingdom Come(1957)](http://eldritcher.livejournal.com/3027.html) and [The Fairy Who Judged His Neighbours(1979)](http://eldritcher.livejournal.com/3131.html)  



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